


Fading Memories is Your Dream

by lumiereandcogsworth



Series: cherry blossoms (young Adam) [1]
Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Abusive Father, Childhood Memories, Heavy Angst, Pre-Curse, Prequel, Teen Angst, Teenage Adam, The Beast is Born
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22152829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumiereandcogsworth/pseuds/lumiereandcogsworth
Summary: Nothing in Adam felt right, ever. He felt each day pass him with less and less recognition of what he actually enjoyed; nothing came to mind. He was his father’s possession now, he was the ceramic replica being carefully formed in the kiln. Everything was going according to his plan. Adam was a book full of empty pages, and the king was meticulously filling it with every single one of his own words.
Relationships: Adam & Lumiere (Disney), Adam & Mrs. Potts (Disney)
Series: cherry blossoms (young Adam) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1840999
Kudos: 17





	Fading Memories is Your Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from a poem called "Escape" by Cynthia on hellopoetry.com - thank you!
> 
> A special shout out to Grace for all the editing and polishing and helping this monster to make some sense!! Thanks love!!
> 
> Finally, I've enjoyed writing this immensely, but I am quite excited for you all to finally see it. I hope you enjoy!

The room was dark. At least, it was darker than it needed to be. It was a sunny afternoon, but the curtains were drawn. Adam’s eyes were fixed on the small seam of light that was shining through where the curtains failed to meet in the middle. Adam lost himself in that line of sun, his mind floating farther and farther away from where his body was. He imagined the curtains rushing apart; the sunlight flooding the room. The glass window shatters but makes no noise, no mess. Adam is lifted from his seat, floating high above his world and out into the day, free from the cage. A soft melody plays, the birds around him chirp in joyous unison, happy for him to finally join them. He floats farther and farther from where he started, leaving it all behind. But as he gets farther away, the melody gets louder. Its rhythmic tune blends into a monotonous hum. The hum grows louder, almost as though it’s buzzing in his ears. He no longer sees the birds, it’s no longer sunny outside. He’s frozen, the buzzing has escalated to a thunder, loud bangs, pounding in his ears like a drum beating in his head. The noise continues to raise, Adam is motionless, the sound begins to take form. He can hear a word, almost make out what it’s saying. Boom. Boom. BOOM-

“ADAM!” The prince flinched in his seat, gripping the arms of the chair. He blinked fast, trying to clear the reminiscent stream of light from his eyes. His father sat across from him, glaring down at the startled prince. There was nothing in his eyes besides contempt, which he did nothing to hide. Adam adjusted himself in his seat, swallowing any final thoughts of floating away. His eyes scanned the contents of his father’s desk. It was organized, covered with even piles of neatly stacked documents on various sizes of parchment. Oil jars and plenty of quills were methodically lined along the right side of the desk. In the center, in front of Adam’s father, sat a box. In it were the very important documents that only the king got to see. The king had summoned Adam to his study to show him the special box. “It’s time you learn what this is,” the king had said when the fifteen-year-old prince walked in. Adam had been in the library when Lumiere had gone to fetch him. He was seated undisturbed in a corner of the extravagant room, deep in a book and far from the real world. He could tell by the look on Lumiere’s face what he was going to ask of him. It was the same look all of the staff had when they were told to bring the prince to his father: apologetic. There was a time when Adam felt sorry for them, too, but the king had taught him better than that.  _ They’re servants _ , the king spat,  _ they’re nothing but utility, Adam, they’re not your friends _ . His hand moved to his face, remembering the sting of a slap, his father’s ruthless grip on his arm. He couldn’t be caught laughing with Lumiere in the grand hall ever again. Now the servants are silent, and Adam need only read the looks on their faces. Are they even meant to have faces? Adam never makes eye contact anymore, treats them as he’s told, constantly in the hopes of having a day free of pain.

“ _Are you hearing me, boy?_ ” The king hissed across the desk, his dark eyes staring relentlessly at the prince’s blue ones. Adam had done all he could to not look up at the menacing gaze he knew his father was giving him. Adam always felt like his father’s darkness was pouring into his soul, whether he was present or not. He’d spent years discovering various methods of avoiding his father’s eyes. But he seemed to have run out of options.

“Yes,” Adam muttered firmly, eyes slowly and reluctantly shifting up to meet his father’s. 

“Good,” the king said, easing back in his chair, the back of it dramatically and expensively higher than it needed to be. “You’ve been doing that a lot, you know.” The king said, drumming his fingers against each other and raising an eyebrow above a snide glance. “You keep looking off, losing focus. A king doesn’t lose focus, Adam.” 

“I’m not a king-”

“ _ But you will be _ ,” the king thundered back, slamming his fist on the desk and causing Adam to jump in his seat once more. Adam’s father scoffed and stood from his seat, as though he was exhausted from trying to speak another language to someone and getting nowhere with it. Adam folded into himself even more, fearing what his father might do. The desk was his only safeguard, and now there was nothing between them as the king paced around the room, now standing in the center of it, behind his son who had remained still in his seat. 

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you!  _ Damn it, boy, _ when will you learn?” The king yelled, crossing his arms on his chest. Adam silently stood from his chair, staring at the floor and walking toward his father. He wondered how long his father had been this way. He wondered if it was when he became a father or if his own father had done this to him, and he simply knew no other way. No, it couldn’t be the second one. That would mean Adam’s father had a family once, was a child once. It gave his father some semblance of human, and Adam would never allow his father to be anything less than a monster. It must be the first. The one that makes it Adam’s fault. The one in which if Adam had not been born, he would not be standing in the middle of his father’s study being yelled at for not looking in the right direction at the right time. Adam’s fault. Adam’s fault. Adam’s fault. 

Adam’s mother never blamed him. She was the kindest and most gentle; she carried the very light from the sun inside her, Adam was sure of it. Her kisses warmed his entire body, made him smile so wide his face hurt. She’d never blame him, she only ever loved him. And when the darkness came close, when the thunder boomed, she’d wrap her arms around Adam and sweep him away. She’d carry him to the library and show him all the different stories he could read. She’d give him all the keys to all the doors to all the worlds away from here. Only she understood the deep desire to escape, only she was there to protect him. He hated himself for envying her death, her final escape from the storm. But he hated himself even more for enduring this life he was left in. A life without sunshine. 

“ _ What’s wrong with you? _ ” The king gripped the prince’s face, squeezing his cheeks together and jerking him forward. Adam looked up at him, fearful, sad, regretful of his decision to carry on obeying his father’s calls. He was trapped, forever in a cycle of imperfection and feelings of worthlessness that weighed him down as if his shoes were made of iron. The king let go of Adam just as aggressively, shoving him back in the process. Adam gathered himself, anxiously breathing harder and looking up at his father for fear of being hit again. He tried to stand firm, but he trembled, and his lower lip quivered. He bit his lip to try and make it stop, but the tension only made his eyes water. Through everything his anxiety brought on, he held his gaze with his father, and his father held it right back. There was a smirk plastered across his face, almost as though he enjoyed watching the prince squirm, watching him fruitlessly try to please him. He laughed, it was small and sinister, but it rang echoes in Adam’s ears. The kind of echoes that would ring long after he’d retired to his bedroom for the night. The king stepped around him, once more returning to his desk and staring down at the box he’d planned to flaunt to his son. “Oh, Adam,” the king scoffed once more. “I suppose it  _ was _ rather foolish of me,” he took the box in his hands, looking at it with such disdain, “to think you were ready for something like this.” He set the box on the bookshelf beside his desk, pretentiously browsing his rare collection of respectable books, ones Adam was obviously never allowed to touch. The prince was still planted in the center of the study, his back to his father. He knew he’d be punished for not returning his gaze, but he knew how much worse it would be if his father saw him crying. Silent tears flooded his red face, he wanted so desperately to wipe them with his sleeve, but his trembling kept him from moving. He remained still, eyes staring intently at the shut door in front of him. He could leave. Ten steps and he would be freed. But what would that lead to? More yelling, more hitting, more of the same… it would only make things worse. 

“You are rather weak, unfortunately,” his father said in a disinterested tone, still dragging his finger along the spines of his books. “I had hoped to have a  _ real _ son, a man, really. But here I am, stuck with unmoving, uninteresting, trembling  _ you _ .” His words barely stung Adam anymore, not after the millionth time he’d heard them. His crying had stopped, but he still found himself unable to turn. He felt safe in this moment, as though his immense vulnerability made him untouchable. “It’s my own doing, of course,” the king smirked, “I forget how alike you are to your dead  _ bitch _ of a mother.” 

Silence fell inside Adam. The ringing in his ears ceased and the pain in his body was erased. All he could feel was the pounding in his chest and the digging of his nails into his palms as he made fists. He turned around to his father, who was already glaring at him with a sly smile. He knew that would break him; of course he did. No one knew Adam better than his father, because no one was more similar to him than his father. Adam stepped toward him, eyebrows furrowed and ears turned bright red with anger, a trait he’d received from the king. In many ways, he  _ was _ his father, for he was the only mold the prince was ever allowed to be made in. But it was indeed his mother’s heart beating inside his chest, making her closer to him than his father could ever be. 

“ _What did you say?_ ” Adam challenged, knuckles white at either side of him. The king looked amused, as if he was finally excited to see _some_ sort of spark in Adam. _Something_ to wake him from his trance. 

“Oh, honestly, Adam, you can’t seriously still be clinging to the memory of that  _ whore _ , can you? Haven’t you grown up yet?” Adam’s fury was at its breaking point, eyes ablaze with rage and spite and every other foul feeling one could have for their dreadful father. He felt as though he could kill the man in front of him, had he a weapon on hand. Instead he dared to do what the very thought of doing would have made him collapse in on himself, had it been any other circumstance. 

“You disgusting,  _ evil _ , wretched-!” Adam yelled, gripping his father’s jacket right at his chest and tugging him forward. “Don’t ever speak of her that way,  _ ever! _ ” It caught the king off guard, but not so much as to prevent him from reacting as he would. 

“Get your hand off of me you  _ vile little rat! _ ” The king ripped Adam’s hand from his jacket, gripping his wrist even tighter and twisting him around, shoving his backwards arm in between his own shoulder blades. Adam gave an undignified yelp, wincing as his father twisted his arm harder and harder. The king gripped Adam’s shoulder with his other hand, throwing him against the wall, still holding his twisted arm in place. “You listen to me, boy,” the king was inches from his ear, speaking in a hushed and threatening tone. Adam was wincing, nearly whimpering from the pain. His twisted arm felt like it was burning, it felt broken. He was trying to lean his head away from his father, but the king pulled at Adam’s hair to bring him closer. “If you  _ ever _ speak to me that way again, or even so much as  _ dare _ to lay a hand on me, you  _ will _ regret it.” With that, he released Adam all at once. He stepped back, glaring down at his sniveling son, breathing hard and fists still clenched, as though he was still deciding whether to do more damage or not. Adam was shaking, turning around and looking at his father in total fear. He slowly brought his arm to his chest, gently holding it at the wrist with his other hand. Tears were flooding his eyes as he looked up at his father, cowering against the wall. He was using every fiber of his being to stop himself from crying in front of him, but it was no use. The pain was filling his insides like a bucket fills on a rainy day. His eyes flashed to the door, but he didn’t dare to leave on his own accord, he couldn’t bear the very thought of further punishment that day if he disobeyed him again. He stood there, shrinking against his father’s terrifying presence, waiting for some sign that he could safely leave. After what felt like an eternity of his father standing over him, the king pointed to the door, not another word spoken. Adam fled out of the room, even remembering to close the door behind him, despite the pain in his arm that had spread throughout his body faster than his mind could process. He held his arm close to his chest, unsure of where to go or how to deal with it. He had no plan for where he was heading, he just wanted to escape. He feared there’d be no place far enough to hide.

* * *

Adam stood alone in the grand library, staring intently at a section of books, scanning the titles and authors without actually reading what any of them said. His ears were ringing, he didn’t know why. Maybe his father’s voice was still echoing in his head. Or maybe his own cry of pain was what he kept hearing. He looked down at the broken arm he’d been cradling against his chest. He could feel how swollen it was becoming. He slowly slid his jacket off of his shoulders, wincing as he removed it from his broken arm. After sliding the sleeve of his undershirt up, he gasped at the look of his mangled arm. It _was_ swollen, and red. He could see the marks from where his father’s fingers had curled around his wrist. He could see where the bruising would form, his arm was numb with pain. He tried to move his fingers, but everything hurt, so he kept his hand still. He held his arm locked against him, deciding all he could do was ignore it. He wouldn’t dare seek help now. What if his father had stormed after him and he was just too upset to hear him coming? What if the king was searching every crevice of the castle to find his _uninteresting, trembling son_? Adam shut his eyes, maybe his father’s words did still sting. He wiped his face with his good arm, trying to shake off his father’s shadow that never seemed to go away. _This is ridiculous_ , Adam thought to himself. _You’re fifteen, Adam, get a hold of yourself._ _You’re pathetic, it’s not like anyone’s going to come for you._ Adam’s father most definitely resented him, but no one hated Adam more than Adam. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stop his tears from flowing. If he could have just _one_ dignified day, he’d be amazed with himself. 

His eyes finally focused on the books. It was summer time, and though he finally had a break from his pristine (and, at times, demanding) education, he still found himself longing to read more than anything. Nothing gave him the escape from his own personal hell that reading did. His still watery eyes began scanning the spines of books, he was around the Shakespearian works. He started reading each title in his head, recalling the plot of each one and tossing each story around in mind like dice in a gambler’s hands. He needed something to pull him out of reality, to take him away from the pain he felt from his arm to his chest. He studied each book, carefully deciding on  _ Hamlet _ , as Adam was in the mood for a series of untimely deaths among royals. Adam began sliding the book from its place on the shelf, but soon another book was following it, almost as though the vinyl covers were stuck together. He pulled at  _ Hamlet _ harder, breaking it free but also causing the book beside it to slip from the shelf and fall off. In a sudden reflex, Adam rushed his free hand down to save the book, only an instant later remembering that his arm was broken, and any slight movement caused a fire to rage on inside. He yelled in pain, immediately dropping the book to the ground and bringing his arm back to his chest. He set  _ Hamlet  _ on the shelf, shutting his eyes and letting the wave of pain crash over him like sharp knives piercing his skin. He clenched his good hand in a fist, slamming it on the books. “ _ Damn it! _ ” he cursed out loud, no longer caring if he was hidden from the rest of the castle. Adam bent down to pick up the book that had fallen. He turned it over to see which story he’d foolishly let hit the ground.  _ Romeo and Juliet _ , the cover read. Adam rolled his eyes dramatically, “oh,  _ please _ .” He shoved the book back in its place and picked up  _ Hamlet _ again, walking over to his usual corner, but then stopped abruptly in the middle of the room. His eyes fell on the doors of the library, it sounded like someone was approaching. Panic filled his body, he ran for a bookshelf, one he could hide behind, but even better if it could open up and swallow him whole forever. He stood motionless among the books, heart pounding, clutching his broken and bruising arm to his body. The door squeaked open, footsteps clicked into the room, there was a cautious air about them. Adam couldn’t tell who it was, there were dozens of people living in this castle and he wanted to see virtually none of them. 

“Adam? Adam dear it’s only Mrs. Potts…” The voice whispered, lined with worry. Adam bit his lip, Mrs. Potts would take care of him, he knew this, even if he did try to treat them all as utility, Mrs. Potts seemed to always prevail above that. She always mended his wounds, whether his father had caused them or not. But he waited behind the shelf, waited to see if she’d come to him. Waited to see if she came  _ for _ him or out of obligation by demand of the king. He knew the difference. “Deary, Lumiere said he saw you run this way, said you looked upset. Is everything okay?” Adam cursed himself.  _ Great, Lumiere’s seen me, and he’s blabbed about it to the whole castle. _ “Only he and I know, love, you needn’t worry about your father finding out,” the housekeeper said warmly. Adam raised his eyebrows, amazed at Mrs. Potts’s ability to read his thoughts. He could tell she was stepping closer, her soft voice getting slightly louder. Adam felt safe, then. She came for him, because she worries and cares. Adam left  _ Hamlet _ on the shelf in front of him and held his broken arm tight to his chest as he slowly peered out into view. Mrs. Potts was facing him when he appeared, and her face filled with worry and shock when she saw the state he was in. She ran over to him, gently examining his arm. He winced at every touch, but he still silently let her care for him. “Oh, sweet boy, what’s he done to you now?” Her voice was angry, but powerless. No one could stand up against the king, they’d lose their livelihoods if they spoke out. They hated to see Adam so mistreated since the death of his mother, but they felt there was nothing more they could do besides care for him in secret. 

“It’s fine, it’s nothing,” Adam said, folding in on himself and backing away. He could feel his father’s disapproval of this conversation weighing him down, pulling him back. Mrs. Potts looked at him with such concern. 

“It can’t very well be nothing if it’s hurting you so badly, now can it?” Mrs. Potts stepped toward him once more, this time putting a hand gently to his cheek to examine it. She could tell his cheeks weren’t just red from being flushed. Adam’s father had been hitting the prince’s face since he was a boy, even before he’d lost his mother. She could recall one instance when she found the little prince alone in the courtyard, sobbing and sitting in the snow. When he turned around, he had a streak of dried blood across one cheek; his father had slapped him so hard he’d drawn blood. Mrs. Potts had made the mistake of reporting the incident to the queen, who in turn got her own share of argument and abuse from the king when she told him never to touch their son again. Mrs. Potts learned then never to speak of Adam’s abuse; only heal him and care for him in silence. She looked at the boy now, ten years older and all the more so damaged. He wouldn’t look her in the eyes, but she already knew why. “Come along, love, I’ll take you to the hospital wing,” she patted his shoulder and began walking, but he didn’t follow. 

“What- What if he sees us?” Adam muttered, eyes fixed on his swollen arm. 

“He won’t, deary, I know a way,” Mrs. Potts smiled. She walked over to another book shelf and picked up his jacket off of the floor, hanging it over her arm and nodding for him to follow her out of the library, which he actually did this time. It pained Mrs. Potts to see Adam treated so horribly. She thanked the Lord every night for her husband, who was so good with their son. Chip was an excitable little four-year-old. Adam had met him a few times and never really knew what to do with him, but his rambunctious behavior did always give Adam the slightest of smiles.

Mrs. Potts led the prince down small corridors and back ways- the ways in which the staff were instructed to travel throughout the castle, Adam had gathered. His father would be fuming if he knew a member of the staff was leading him these ways. God forbid Adam isn’t always walking down the gold encrusted corridors or marble walkways. The lackluster decor of these back hallways did bother Adam, but the shooting pains from his arm prevented him from resisting Mrs. Potts’s leadership. Adam made no reaction to his pain, knowing all too well how a prince was meant to behave in front of the staff. He continued to look forward, still cradling his arm on his chest, eyes fixated on the back of Mrs. Potts’s bonnet. A strand of her blonde, curly hair had escaped from her up-do, and Adam was watching it bounce against the back of her neck as she walked. Her hair was like his mother’s: curly and sunkissed and beautiful. He never thought about her when his father hit him. He couldn’t bear to imagine what she would say if she knew how bad it had become. He always prayed she’d look away in the heavens, just to spare her of the horrors she left him in. He never blamed her for leaving, of course. She was sick, and sometimes the sweetest melodies are the shortest in length. 

They eventually made it to the hospital wing. The nurse and Mrs. Potts shared a glance between each other that Adam had seen all too often among the staff when they were in his bruised and beaten presence. The prince leaned against the table, feeling too tall and too old to sit on it as he had done when he was a child. The nurse curtsied before stepping toward him and taking his mangled arm gently into her hands. She identified the fracture at once and shifted his arm into place, which hurt immensely, but he made no noise. He wouldn’t allow himself that sort of familiarity with the staff, he knew better than that. The nurse then fitted his arm in a cast, rendering his hand nearly useless, and gave him a small dose of laudanum for the pain. 

“Try to keep it rested, Your Highness, it will heal faster,” the nurse said delicately. Adam gave a slight nod and leaned off of the table, making a disgusted face at the bitterness of the pain medication. He stood upright, letting his arms fall to his sides, feeling the weight of the bandaging on one arm compared to the freedom of his good arm. He felt like a balance scale with stones in one tray and a feather in the other. He took a deep sigh, glancing down at his arm and pulling his billowy sleeve down over the cast. He then looked up at the nurse, then at Mrs. Potts, thankfulness in his eyes, but he didn’t dare to outwardly show his appreciation.  _ They’re nothing but utility _ , his father’s words boomed in his head. The nurse curtsied and turned away, busying herself with the tidying of her supplies. Mrs. Potts curtsied too, but held to his gaze, wanting to scoop him into her arms and sit him at her dinner table with Mr. Potts and Chip. Safe with a warm family who would love him so dearly. But that would never happen; he lived in a cold world alongside a cold father, and nothing was going to change the path he was set on now. He nodded once more, solidifying his acknowledgment of their work and exited out the main door, into a corridor and suddenly back in his reality, hours later but all the more tragic. He began to walk down the hall when suddenly he stopped, looked down at himself, and realized he’d forgotten his jacket.  _ I shouldn’t have let Mrs. Potts take it, forgetful woman, _ he grumbled internally; his insults always seemed like they were in his father’s voice rather than his own. Just as he’d turned, however, he saw Mrs. Potts stepping out of the room, his jacket in hand. There she went again, hearing Adam’s thoughts before he could act on them. Adam remained still, letting her carry the jacket to him. He took it from her, gently shrugging it on. Mrs. Potts wanted more than anything to fix his hair, kiss his forehead, give him some level of love that she knew he wouldn’t find anywhere else. But she resisted, simply smiling at him and curtsying once more.

“Is there anything else you’ll be needing, Your Highness?” She asked so sweetly, folding her hands in front of her to restrain from wrapping them around his slight and damaged build. Adam stood there, already taller than her but feeling like the same young child he was when she had first started tending to him. 

“No,” he stated, instinctively placing a hand over his wounded one. “That’s all.” Mrs. Potts nodded and turned away, vanishing into the hospital wing once more. Adam stood still in the massive corridor, wondering how he was going to make it from there to his bedroom without passing by his father. 

* * *

The following morning, the prince found himself in one of the smaller libraries of the castle, one that had a piano in it that Maestro Cadenza would sometimes play music in. Adam loved listening to the Maestro play his melodies, and it was a special treat when his wife, Madame de Garderobe, would sing along. Their sounds blended so perfectly together, as though they were meant to be heard as one. Adam used to wonder if that’s what love was: two melodies playing as one. But now the room was dark and silent, and just as the atmosphere of the library had become, so had Adam’s feelings toward love changed. Adam’s concepts of love and affection had shriveled into something small and cynical, hardly residing in his heart at all. The Maestro and his wife don’t get to freely perform their music anymore. It was Adam’s mother who loved to hear it so much. One thing Adam knew to be true: songs end, rhythms stop, and love fades. 

The prince was sitting in an armchair, his legs tucked onto the seat of the chair, his head leaning to the side on the chair’s back. He rested his newly bandaged arm on his leg, he hadn’t slept all night- laudanum can only take one so far. He was cradling a book in front of him, already deep into it when the door swung open. Adam quickly closed the book and sat up, swinging his legs down so he was properly sitting in the chair. His heart pounded, he didn’t want to see his father, he wasn’t ready for him to see his arm in a cast; to see him weak. Fortunately, the man that entered was far from his father; it was Lumiere. He’d presumably come in to look for something for the king (Adam’s father was always sending Lumiere to do his ludicrous and tedious tasks). Adam remained silent at first, watching as the butler scanned the room, immediately having his back to the prince when he’d entered. Adam thought about sneaking out, as avoiding people was always his favorite option in situations. Lumiere, unfortunately, was looking too near to the door, surely he’d hear if the prince tried to make his escape. None of these plans mattered now, though, as Lumiere had turned around and discovered the prince silently watching him. 

“Oh! Mon prince!” The butler exclaimed, taking a bow before stepping toward Adam. The prince nearly smiled; oh, how he missed Lumiere. The man who would sing and dance and make jokes about good old Cogsworth all day long. When Adam’s mother was occupied, the prince would find his favorite butler at once. Lumiere would do anything for him when he was a boy, even let him ride around on his back down the right corridors at the right times of day. Adam would laugh and laugh, his cheeks hurting from grinning so widely. Adam even always remembered the glimmer that Lumiere had in his green eyes, the warm smile he’d give him after playing some special game that only the pair of them knew. All of that was over now. The king had hit Adam the last time Lumiere had made him laugh, and now their relationship was civil: it was a prince and his butler, and absolutely nothing more, forever. 

Adam stayed planted in his chair, though his eyes didn’t leave the butler approaching. Lumiere’s smile faded with every step he made toward the prince. He was disappointingly unsurprised to see Adam racing off down the corridor the day before. He could tell by the quick flash of the prince’s face that something had happened, and it was most certainly a horrible altercation with his father. Oh, how Lumiere despised the king and what he was doing to his poor son. The prince was such a sweet boy, but his father had taken him and removed all goodness in his life. The butler wished so desperately that he could do something to save this young prince in front of him from becoming who his father was, but he just didn’t know what could be done. 

“Your arm, how are you, mon prince?” Lumiere asked delicately, as though he had to withhold all emotion from his words as he expressed them. 

“It’s all right,” Adam said, staring down at Lumiere’s yellow shoes. Lumiere’s heart broke, seeing how the prince had been trained to behave. He wanted to kneel down in front of him and say something stupidly optimistic about how people who’ve broken their arms end up being way stronger anyway.  _ He’ll be all the more stronger when this is all done _ , Lumiere had to tell himself. One day, this will be better. The staff had to believe that Adam wouldn’t really take his father’s form. They had to hold on to Adam’s mother; had to trust she was still inside him and he was only behaving this way to please the king. Lumiere had to believe that the same little boy he’d let ride around on his back to distract him from his parents’ horrible arguments was still somewhere in there. Adam wasn’t  _ really _ Adam right now. It won’t last;  _ this will be better. _

The butler nodded, giving him a warm smile all the while knowing Adam would never return his gaze. Lumiere had to accept their new relationship; had to accept that things would never truly be the way they were, despite the hope he held onto. Adam knew it too. The prince stared hard at Lumiere’s shoes, knowing them so well. He could remember being a young child, bending down to pull at the buckles on the butler’s shoes. Lumiere would laugh brightly and pick the prince up, explaining to him that shoes are meant to stay on your feet,  _ mon petit prince _ . The young boy would giggle at the butler’s words, call him silly, and tell him that he was only making sure they were on the right feet. Lumiere would laugh at this, there’d be only joy between them. All of that was gone now, fading into a deep chasm of memories where all of Adam’s happiness seemed to end up. He felt the chasm grow wider in his mind every day, just as he felt his heart tugging at his chest for attention. Nothing in him felt right, ever. He felt each day pass him with less and less recognition of what he actually enjoyed; nothing came to mind. He was his father’s possession now, he was the ceramic replica being carefully formed in the kiln. Everything was going according to  _ his _ plan. Adam was a book full of empty pages, and the king was meticulously filling it with every single one of his own words. 

The prince shook himself out of his thoughts, pushing his memories away like he always did. He nodded, an apparent attempt of acknowledging Lumiere, and turned back to his book, re-opening it and leaning his good elbow on the arm of the chair, resting his cheek in his palm. Lumiere watched him, knowing the prince was never going to be the boy he was, but trying hard not to let that notion entirely wrench at his soul. The butler solemnly gave a weak smile, almost at the memory of the prince sitting before him. He then bowed, despite Adam never seeing it, and quickly retrieved what he’d come in the room to look for before exiting and leaving the prince to his peace once more. Lumiere’s mind raced with many thoughts as he carried the book to the king, but the only words that kept repeating themselves were  _ this will get better _ . Lumiere knew that if he didn’t truly believe that, he’d lose hope in his prince forever. 

* * *

Weeks had gone by since Adam’s arm was broken; since voices were raised and fists were clenched and one stubborn man was against the other. That was the last he’d seen his father, come to think of it. At first, the prince thought the king was finally beginning to respect Adam. Finally leaving him alone and having the decency to let him heal fully before he decided to add to his wounds. But no,  _ foolish Adam.  _ The king was simply in Versailles, having gone to meet with nobles and elders and probably wishing to have some peace from his disappointment of a son. He’d left the day after Adam’s arm had snapped in two, without a trace or word of the altercation to a soul. Adam was glad he hadn’t seen him before he’d gone, glad too that Lumiere hadn’t mentioned anything to him about his father’s apparent soon departure. It made things easier, made Adam feel like he’d won, in some way. Like his father was too cowardly to face him after what he’d done. Whether that was true or not, the prince would never know, but he had to take his victories when he could. Adam ate his breakfast alone, sans the footmen who stood along the walls like pillars holding the roof up, ready to be at the prince’s constant aid. Despite the hatred and fear he felt when he was with his father, there was a part of him that wished he could’ve gone to Versailles. He loved seeing the city; Paris, too, if he was lucky. The buildings and the views, the sights and smells; he loved getting out of the castle. He often felt trapped there, and despite its extravagance and size, there never seemed to be a good enough escape from everyone else. 

After finishing his delectable feast of a breakfast, paying no mind to thank the various servants who’d waited on him, Adam made his way back to his bedroom. It was always a blessing for more than one reason when his father went away. Besides the obvious lack of abuse and constant reminders of how incredibly worthless he’d been deemed, there was the freedom of royal responsibility. He was free from having to make appearances with Madame God-Knows-Who and Monsieur Whatever-The-Hell. No standing around in grand halls beside his father just for a line of a dozen people to bow and curtsy at his fake smile and his detailed and embellished attire. He was free to spend his wealth and time how he pleased. The prince made his way from the breakfast room up the stairs to his bedroom in the west wing. It was only two staircases away from his father’s master chambers, far closer to Adam’s bedroom than he ever liked. He imagined, one day, he’d inherit the master chambers, and oh, how he waited for that day. 

Upon entering his bedroom, Adam was greeted by two maids, one he knew the name of, and one younger-looking maid that he had no recollection of knowing, nor any plans of being introduced. The only reason he knew the first was because she was Lumiere’s wife, Plumette, and Lumiere used to be one of the few lights in his life. But just like all of Adam’s joys, they always seem to slip from his world like a candle in an open window on a stormy night. Lumiere was just utility now, and so was Plumette. Both of the maids looked up from their work upon his entry, startled but still curtsying as they were expected to. Adam never noticed it anymore, he’s the prince, after all. 

“What are you doing in here?” Adam questioned in a grumbled tone, clearly not having wanted to interact with other humans. 

“Just fixing your bed with clean blankets, Your Highness,” Plumette answered. The prince made a vague gesture of acknowledgement and walked further into his room. The maids continued their work hastily while the prince went to busy himself with a stack of books on his floor, one of many scattered around his room. 

“D’you see what my father did to me?” He held up his arm to the maids, you could see the end of his cast around his hand. He’d gotten used to the added weight, but never ceased in craving the attention from others. He needed it: the validation and the pity. He disgusted himself but he never fought it; the taste of the obligated concern from the staff was all too satisfying on his tongue. 

“Oh, yes, Your Highness. Many apologies for your pains,” Plumette replied almost automatically. The younger maid nodded along with her, clearly having not had seen what the king had done to his son, and far too new to the castle to be used to it. Adam nodded, satisfied by Plumette’s words. 

“Do you know when your father is to return?” The younger maid asked. Plumette shot her a scolding look. Adam immediately looked up at her, scowling. 

“Is that any of your concern?” He questioned with an almost menacing tone. Of course he hadn’t the faintest idea when the king was to return. He never did. 

“I- I- No, no of course not. My- My apologies, Your Highness,” the young maid fumbled with her words, flustered and anxious, Adam glaring at her like he could smite her on the spot with his eyes alone. He knew all too well the way to stare daggers into someone’s soul, his father had been doing it to him all his life. She stood there, avoiding his eyes and gripping the end of the sheet she held in her hands. 

Adam looked at her, she was young, probably his age, maybe younger. He thought she looked like what his mother must have looked like when she was a girl, the same blonde hair and blue eyes she’d graced him with. His mother was a commoner before coming to the castle, and Adam always used to imagine her like how the servant girls looked: simple and plain dresses with beaten and worn-in shoes. Adam’s mother would always tell Adam of sweet memories from her childhood to lull him to sleep, when she didn’t have the joy in her heart to sing to him. She’d regale him with the beauty of her time as a girl, young and free. A farm and two parents who loved each other, older brothers and animals to play with. She was happy before she came to the castle. She loved her life before she had to leave, before the storm came. Adam never knew then, but he’d gathered what had happened in the years that followed. Her family loved her, but their farm wasn’t thriving, and their bellies were growing hungrier. The prince at the time was seeking a bride, and he had a fortune he was willing to pay in return. He found her beautiful, but not in the way a man should. He saw her like a prize, a trophy, something to gawk at but never truly cherish. That was when Adam learned that his father had been stealing away happiness for nearly his entire life. That’s when Adam realized that if he was ever going to survive in this castle, he’d never allow himself the feeling of joy. He’d never be able to let his father see his happiness, that way he could never steal it away from him. Somewhere down the line, however, Adam had seemed to have lost his joy all on his own. 

Adam looked at the young maid now, he wondered if she had joy, if she liked herself. He wondered if it was normal at all to be happy at their age. He’d lost the idea of what being happy was, but his father never liked how he behaved, so how was he supposed to be? Perhaps Adam simply not being there at all would make things easier, but that would probably disappoint his father too. 

The maid stood still, growing more anxious the longer the silence settled into the room. Adam blinked and looked away, not another word spoken. Plumette tugged at the sheet, shaking the maid out of her trembling and into reality. They completed the bed in silence and left the room, still curtsying despite the fact that Adam hadn’t looked up. He hadn’t even opened his books, he was only staring at them: scattered in various heights of piles strewn across his floor. He thought of the castle librarian, who would surely come and pester him once again about returning the books back to their proper home. He just couldn’t let go of them that easy, he needed to know all of his escape routes were there when he needed them. As he looked upon his many, many books, his mind became foggy, and his eyes broke away from his floor to his bandaged arm. He wondered then if his mother had ever broken her arm. It was probably from riding a horse or playing with her brothers, if she ever did. She was probably laughing, not crying. She probably had her blue eyes reflecting in the sun, not shut tight and puffed with redness. But then, she had had a chance at happiness, and she’d given Adam all the happiness she had left before she died. He wished he hadn’t used it up so fast. 

* * *

The king had been gone a total of nine weeks, quite conveniently just enough time for him never to see Adam’s arm in a cast. That morning, while the king was still in his carriage ride from Versailles, Adam had been in the hospital wing getting his arm freed. He had paid no mind to how long he was meant to wear the cast, of course. The only reason he knew to come was because Mrs. Potts had so lovingly reminded him after he’d finished his breakfast. Soon after his arm was back in working condition, the prince ran to the stables, in desperate need of a horse ride. The need for control and open fields and pure unconfined time to himself had been pulling at his heart since he’d gotten the cast- but Cogsworth had warned him against riding a horse in his condition. For whatever reason, the prince hadn’t protested. There was something satisfying to him about being managed in a way that didn’t involve a raised voice or a twisted arm. 

When Adam reached the stables, he quickly mounted his beloved horse Etienne. He’d received the horse when he was just a boy, before he could even ride him. Adam’s mother suggested naming him Etienne because the white diamond on the horse’s forehead looked like a gem from a crown. The young prince adored the name, and he’d grown to adore the horse as well. His mother would take him riding whenever his father was away, the king would have been furious if he knew she had been riding, but the staff were nothing if not loyal to their queen. When his mother died, Adam didn’t go riding for months and months; he avoided everything that reminded him of his mother. The very thought of pursuing something in her memory pulled at his heart, he could feel it sinking inside him even now as he’d eventually found his way back to Etienne. The prince partly felt guilty for abandoning him for so long, and even still a part of his heart ached riding a horse alone. Despite all of that, he wouldn’t let his sadness take away his freedom. Riding was one of his few remaining joys, and he knew it made his mother smile upon him to see him still riding and being free. His arm was incredibly stiff, even still painful to move, but he gripped the reins of Etienne’s harness gladly, making his way farther and farther from the castle and into the open pastures of the grand estate. The wind blew through his blond hair and Etienne winnied with excitement to be finally out of the stables once again. The pair of them were like leaves in the wind, effortlessly carried where the world felt they were meant to be. The sound of Etienne’s hooves beating against the green grass filled Adam’s ears with gladness. He steered the horse freely, shutting his eyes for a moment and letting his body feel the effortlessness of Etienne’s strides. The air smelled of a sunny day shining on pine trees and flower blossoms, it sounded like soft whispers of wind tickling Adam’s ears. The prince smiled, something he didn’t do all too often, and most certainly something he never let anyone see. 

After many, though not enough, blissful moments passed in the field, Adam noticed a carriage entering the estate in the distance, heading for the castle. His heart sank and his stomach did a somersault. His father had been gone for months, and as always it was wonderful and freeing- even joyous for Adam, so it of course made sense that his father would be the one to ruin such pleasant feelings for the prince upon his return. Adam quietly watched the carriage roll closer and closer to the castle, and he eventually signaled Etienne to slowly take him back. Etienne made his small strides and Adam watched the carriage, dreading every ounce of interaction with his father while simultaneously being all too prepared for the inevitable abuse to rain down on him as it always did. 

The prince and Etienne arrived at the stables, a stable boy with a straw hat and dark hair at once taking the end of the reins in his hands and pulling the horse to a post to be tied to. He then swiftly brought a stool for the prince to dismount the horse on. Adam moved as though the stable boy wasn’t even there, like all of the assistance that happened around him was simply from the universe. Adam stepped toward Etienne’s long nose, petting it a few times in praise. The stable boy moved the stool away, Adam had his eyes fixed between the wooden planks of the stable fence, trying to see if he could anticipate his father’s arrival. He was sure he hadn’t seen Adam on the horse, perhaps he wouldn’t have to greet him at all. 

“Are you finished riding for the day, Your Highness?” The stable boy asked, breaking Adam’s concentration. He muttered a firm “yes” and continued stroking Etienne’s neck, watching as the carriage pulled to a stop and servants came flooding out of the castle to greet the king. The stable boy proceeded to unbuckle the saddle of the horse, when Adam suddenly turned and grabbed the stool, putting it in place and nearly shoving the stable boy to the side as he quickly mounted the horse once more. 

“Actually, I’m not,” Adam said with a new determination on his face. He kept his eyes on the carriage, watching for his father to make an appearance. The stable boy caught his balance and immediately changed gears, fastening the saddle and running over to untie the horse to let Adam take him out again. Adam called for Etienne to take off, and the pair of them galloped toward the entrance of the castle, a plan forming in the prince’s mind. 

When Adam finally made his way to the entourage of servants waiting on the king as he exited the carriage, he pulled Etienne to a stop and waited for the king to take notice. Adam tried to look tall, tried to look esteemed and proper; as though he’d been thriving on his own without his father there. He suddenly had the need to make the king feel just a little like how he made him feel. Like nothing. So Adam sat on his horse, pride in his blue eyes, a hand on his hip, and his best attempt at a smug look on his face. When the king finally did look up, it was nothing but the same contempt he always had. 

“What are you doing on that old thing, boy? My Lord,” the king coughed, “we have an entire string of horses and you still elect to ride that decrepit scrawny one. Get down and follow me. Stable boy,” the king snapped his fingers, “take that horse back to the stables.” Quickly another stable boy, taller than the one who’d been tending to Adam, stepped over to the prince and Etienne. Adam’s heart fell, but it also burned with fury. Etienne was his sweetest remembrance of his mother, and just like everything, his father did nothing but spit on it. The prince sulkingly dismounted his beloved horse, feeling defeated and petting the horse’s soft nose twice before letting the stable boy lead Etienne back to the stables. The king began walking into the group of servants, but they parted a path for him and Adam like he was Moses in front of the Red Sea. Adam followed behind the king like a forlorn little puppy who’d been kicked more times than pet. The servants all bowed and curtsied as they walked by: the most powerful man in the country with his successor behind him feeling like a brittle leaf at the end of autumn. The entourage of staff followed, the carriage was taken away, and the horses were brought to the stables for a well-deserved rest. The castle soon shifted to the way things were, the way things had to be when the king was present. It’s not that things did not run smoothly when he was gone, but the air changed and all the light seemed to become slightly dimmer. A chill ran down Adam’s spine as the grand doors swung open. His father was back, so much for his freedom. 

* * *

Adam silently followed his father up the stairs and to his study, to the room where everything had last happened between them. He wondered if his father thought about it, considered what he’d actually done to his son all those weeks ago. Probably not, though. Monsters don’t think about their actions. A footman had been trailing far behind the king and prince, carrying his master’s trunk. When they reached the study, the footman left the trunk, bowed to them both, and left without any words. The king went to his desk, his back to Adam as he sifted through a pile of documents. Adam stood in the middle of the room, his eyes having fallen on the trunk the footman brought up. The prince tilted his head curiously as he examined it. His father didn’t usually have his things brought to his study, they were always taken right to his dressing room. The prince glanced at his father’s back for a moment before stepping toward the trunk. It was relatively new, with his father’s initials engraved in gold on the side. It smelled of leather and horses, a peculiar mixture of unpleasant smells that made it even more strange for his father to have it brought to his study. The king coughed, breaking Adam’s investigation as he looked over to his father. When the king turned around, there was something off about him. Adam couldn’t quite place what it was, but it made him feel uneasy. His father looked more pale than usual, even more pale than when he wore the white makeup for big events. He also seemed like he wasn’t standing as tall, like his shoulders were hunched slightly and his hands were hanging at his sides in an incredibly unthreatening manner; were those the same hands that broke Adam’s arm? 

“ _ What are you looking at? _ ” The king spat- at least his ruthlessness was as hearty as ever. Adam took a step back as his father walked over to the trunk and threw it open. The prince had his hands folded behind his back, wondering why his father had brought him into his study in the first place. The king coughed again, Adam furrowed his eyebrows at this. It was the third time he’d done that since he’d been back. It was strange seeing his father do something so normal as coughing, it made him think he might actually be human- and Adam couldn’t accept that. Finally, the king turned around, holding a silver evening-jacket in his hands. 

“Come here, boy, put this on,” the king demanded. Adam tentatively pulled his jacket off and rested it on the back of a chair. He walked over to his father and took the coat from him curiously, shrugging it on. The king glared at him for a moment, rubbing his chin in thought. Adam felt like a detailed painting in that moment, being stared at and scrutinized without any words shared between the two. “It’ll do,” the king said, pulling the jacket off of Adam faster than the prince could move. He rubbed his newly healed arm, still a little sensitive and now sore from his father’s haste. 

“What’s it for?” Adam ventured, gently taking his own jacket from the chair and pulling it back on. The king laid the silver coat back in the trunk and shut it. 

“The ball to host the nobles coming from Paris, you fool. Have you already forgotten?” Adam actually  _ had _ forgotten; his blissful months without his father had made him think he’d never have royal duties again, just as his father’s absences had always made him feel. That must have been why his father had ordered him to his study the last time, it was just never realized because the king felt it was more important that Adam be terrified of him, rather than actually learn from him. Adam muttered an “oh, right” as his father rolled his eyes and circled around Adam to his desk, coughing again. Adam stood firm, looking around the room and waiting for further command from his father. It was odd, his father’s lack of engagement. Usually when he returned from trips he couldn’t wait to let his rage fly against Adam like boiling water splashing out of a pot. But now there was nothing besides a few vile comments and demands, no tears or pain involved. Maybe the time away had finally given his father some perspective, Adam thought. Maybe, just maybe, his father was letting Adam be his own man. 

The king coughed again, but this time it didn’t stop after one initial hack. The king began violently coughing into his curled fist, gripping the edge of his desk with his other hand. Adam turned to look at him, bemused by this kind of behavior from his father, but not knowing what to do about it. After a moment of undignified hacking, the king stood upright, composing himself and straightening his jacket. Adam was nearly gawking at him, having never seen his father do something so human as to look so... _ weak _ . The king immediately went to correct his son’s gaze, stepping toward him and slapping him clean across his face. Adam stumbled to the side, so unexpectant of the blow. 

“ _ What _ , might I ask,  _ are you staring at, boy? _ ” The king spat, beginning to look like he did the last time they were in this room. Adam straightened himself out, putting a hand to his face. He didn’t know what to think- one moment his father looked pale and weak, sounding like he was soon to cough up his insides, and the next he’s slapping Adam’s face and screaming rhetorical questions at him, as per usual. He couldn’t decipher the look on his father’s face. It mostly seemed to be the same bruting and loathing expressions he’d always given his son, but there was something off, still. Like the fire had gone out behind his eyes, like he was doing this to keep an appearance, rather than out of the usual pleasure he seemed to have gotten from it. 

The king gathered himself and cleared his throat, which prompted another cough. Adam rubbed his cheek and stood there, collecting his thoughts and trying to settle his now racing heart. It had seemed he’d done what his father had called him in to do, but he knew there was no way he could leave on his own volition. 

“So,” the king began as though nothing had happened, his back still to the prince. “Am I then to assume that since you’ve forgotten the ball, you’ve given no thought to what you’ll say at the dinner? You’ll have to speak, Adam, you’re not a child anymore.” He shuffled papers on his desk, randomly picking pieces of parchment from the pile and scanning its contents. Adam had never watched his father so closely. Even the way he handled the parchment seemed different. The prince wasn’t sure if it was just his vision or not, but it looked as though his father’s hands were shaking. “ _ ADAM! _ ” The king turned, hatefully glaring at the prince who had been completely absent from his father’s words. 

“Yes?” Adam responded, amazingly. Usually he only cowered or stepped back when his father yelled, but something about the way his father was feebly holding onto the document in his hand made him feel like he could handle this conversation- if that’s what it was. The king stepped toward him again, this time gripping the prince’s shoulder, shaking it with his words. 

“Listen to me when I speak to you,  _ boy _ .” He let go, shoving his son back as he turned away. “Your  _ speech _ , you insolent moron _ , _ what are you going to say at the  _ dinner _ ?” Adam hadn’t the faintest idea what he was going to say at the dinner with the nobles from Paris. He assumed someone would write something for him, and he couldn’t quite understand why his father was suddenly so concerned with a simple speech. Sure, he hadn’t been asked to speak at many important dinners, but this certainly wasn’t going to be his first.

“I don’t know what I’m going to say, no one’s written anything-”

“No!” The king stepped closer to him, interrupting what he presumably knew his son was going to say. “No, Adam, you don’t  _ wait _ for things to get done for you. You seize them, you command they be brought to you at a moment’s notice. Do you understand? You can’t be soft, boy, like you  _ always _ are.” The king had both his hands on Adam’s shoulders. He was gripping them again, but not so much in an aggressive manner as it was a terrifyingly desperate need for the prince’s attention. Adam was bewildered, leaning away from his father but failing to go far as the king was keeping him closer than arm’s length. There was a far off look in the king’s eyes, almost as though he wasn’t himself- whoever that was. Suddenly the king began coughing again, another fit, like the last one. He released Adam at once, who almost fell back having been so off balance from his father’s hold. 

“Yes, father,” Adam muttered in response as the king began aggressively hacking into his fist. He stumbled a little, failing to stop his fit of coughing, starting to wheeze and sounding as though air wasn’t going to his lungs. Adam’s eyebrows drew together as he watched his father in distress, something he was sure he’d never see in his life. The king looked to the prince, still wheezing and coughing. He began stepping toward him, staring intently at Adam without saying words- not that there was a chance he could speak. He took in breaths, but hardly any air came out in return. His coughs were loud and aggressive, perfectly reflecting the essence of their current victim. The king wobbled, his steps smaller and smaller as he tried to walk toward Adam. He only made it two steps before collapsing in front of his son, a loud  _ thud  _ preceding a terrifying silence in the room, now with only one man standing in it. 

Adam stood frozen in his father’s study, eyes locked on the motionless body in front of him. His heart was pounding, he could feel it banging at his chest like a wayward peasant knocking at a door on a stormy night. He didn’t know what to do; his feet wouldn’t move, but he wasn’t sure he wanted them to. All his life his father had had the upper-hand, had the power, the control, and now Adam looked at him: weak, helpless,  _ powerless _ . It gave Adam a surge of pleasure he had not known before. He stood over his father’s still body with sudden dominance, the power he felt was beginning to fuel him. As he stood there, he heard footsteps in the hall outside the study. The clicking of the approaching shoes rang louder and louder in Adam’s head, bringing him back into his morbid reality, breaking him of all his newfound powerful notions. His father was on the floor, Adam needed help. The prince quickly turned and grabbed the door, swiftly glancing back at his father to see if this is truly what was happening. He pulled the door open and stepped out into the corridor to see who was approaching. 

“Good morning, Your Highness!” Cogsworth greeted with a cordial smile as he made his way down the corridor. Adam paid no mind to his words, aggressively pointing into the study.

“Cogsworth, my- the- the king-” Adam started fumbling on his words, suddenly his reality was folding into a blur of panic and haste. Cogsworth’s face fell as he quickened his pace, following the prince’s direction into the study and freezing in the doorway, utterly gasping at the sight. He immediately called for guards and servants, commanding them to get the nurses and doctors-  _ anybody! _ The corridor began filling with all of the members of the castle’s staff, for once paying no attention to Adam. The prince stood motionless in the middle of the corridor where he’d first encountered Cogsworth. He was looking everywhere and nowhere all at once. His vision blurred and all he saw were flashes of servants and supplies. The sounds of the panicked workers were almost deafening, the voices melding into a loud mumble pressed against his ears. He looked around, up and down the corridor, he’d never seen such madness in the castle. Everyone was always so orderly, so calm. All at once, Adam had become the only person in the castle who still had a sense of tranquility within him. In fact, he was surprisingly still among the commotion. Adam looked into the study, now filled with a few nurses tending to his father. He watched as they cared for him; seemingly caring  _ about _ him. Adam felt as though he could no longer be bothered by their worthless  façades . He knew how the servants truly felt about his father. Who could ever care about such a beast? Adam let his mind wander away from their tireless efforts. His eyes fell on the corridor ahead of him; once containing only he and Cogsworth, now a parade of frenzied servants and nurses. He began walking toward them. They still parted out of his way, but there was a lack of elegance that usually came along with being the reason for parting a crowd. He strode down the hall against the rushing servants, like a fish swimming up stream. The noises of commotion echoed throughout the castle as Adam walked farther and farther away from the crowd, from the study, from his  _ father _ , from everything. The prince could feel something happening around him; a change within the castle. The very air of the only home he’d ever known had fallen flat on the marble floors he walked on. The tectonic plates of his mind were shifting out from under him, shaking the expectations he had when he awoke that morning. He could feel the very landscape of his life being altered forever. His father had collapsed, things weren’t going to be the same. 

* * *

_ You can’t be soft, boy, like you always are. _ The king’s last words before he’d collapsed had been echoing in Adam’s mind the entire day. He didn’t know what was wrong with his father, didn’t know what had happened to him that morning. No one had come to check on Adam or had thought to update him on his father’s well-being. Chances are he’d be perfectly fine, all would go back to normal, back to Adam’s regular torment. But for some reason those words of his father’s seemed so final. Like  _ that _ was the last advice Adam was ever going to get from his father. Actually, it wasn’t so much advice as it was a command followed by a weak and overused insult. If it was, in fact, trying to be advice, it was fairly shoddy and back-handed. Nothing Adam hadn’t heard already. “Being soft” was something Adam’s father told him to never be twenty times a day, when he was around. Why were those words clinging so hard to Adam’s ears, then? Why were his palms sweaty? Why was his heart racing? Why did he feel like things were changing?

There was a knock on the library door that startled Adam, derailing all his trains of thought. It was dark out, the moon was barely shining through and Adam had only a single candle lit beside him. He’d been in the library since the incident happened, of course he’d go to the library. No room in the castle made him feel safer. The prince stood and took the candle in his hand, making his way to the door to open it. That was strange, him answering the door for himself. But the whole day had been strange, so maybe he was doing exactly what he should be doing. It was Mrs. Potts at the door, she had her own candle in one hand, and a plate of  _ pâte à choux _ _ , _ the prince’s favorite pastries, in the other. It was then that Adam realized how hungry he was. He’d gone the whole day without eating, (besides his breakfast, which felt like a lifetime ago) and not a single servant had realized it; except Mrs. Potts, evidently. She extended the plate to him with an apologetic smile. The prince silently took it,  his eyes locked on the bright flame of her candle as the housekeeper curtsied. There were no words exchanged as Adam turned and walked back to his armchair, Mrs. Potts lightly closing the door and following him. He sat down, placing the plate of pastries in his lap and unapologetically, yet still maintaining some level of etiquette, stuffed them in his face. She stood in front of him with a grave look that nearly cast its own dark shadow in the candle light. 

“Adam,” she began, folding her hands in front of her. The staff weren’t usually supposed to call the prince by his first name, but he never corrected Mrs. Potts for doing so, and she was clever enough never to call him that around his father. “I’ve just come to tell you, deary, that your father’s fallen ill. The doctors say he only has a matter of days...” She carried on speaking, but her voice faded into a high-pitch tone in Adam’s head. He’d heard all this before, it was the same delicate speech Mrs. Potts had given him when his mother had fallen ill. That’s why his heart had been racing, that’s why he’d felt so nervous. It was the same sudden bout of illness that had taken his mother. The same cruelty that had robbed young Adam of his life’s purest good, forever rendering him unloved and unworthy. He could remember it all so well. He was out in the garden with Lumiere, playing some imaginary game that made him laugh. Lumiere had just wrangled the prince onto his back when Mrs. Potts had come running out, tears in her eyes. Adam was set on his feet and Lumiere was taken to the side to hear the most tragic news he’d ever heard. Adam remembered the look of shock on the butler’s face, the way his hand covered his mouth. He remembered Lumiere putting his hands on her shoulders as she struggled to stop her tears and collect herself. He could tell something was wrong, of course, but nothing could have prepared him for what the housekeeper was soon to tell his innocent self. The prince remembered his heart breaking. He could hear it splitting in two; feel the weight of his pain plunging down the middle of it. Nothing made sense after that day, nothing felt right. Adam had been numb ever since. 

This time was different. Yes, it had the same initial feelings, the same circumstances, the same shock, but this time it was his father. The man he’d learned to loathe before he knew what loathing was. The man he could never trust, could never confide in; the man he’d chosen not to help right away when he’d collapsed at his feet. Adam’s feelings subsided, his body calmed and he settled back into his chair, this was different. Maybe this was actually supposed to happen. The prince blinked and looked up, bringing his attention back to Mrs. Potts. 

“...Is that alright, deary?” Adam quirked an eyebrow, swallowing the remainder of a pastry and trying to see if his mind had processed anything she’d said, but came up blank. 

“What?” He asked, focusing his gaze on her for once and sitting up again.

“I said the doctors want the king to rest for the night, so he won’t be taking any visitors tonight… is that all right?” Mrs. Potts couldn’t imagine how the prince was feeling, and from the looks of it, he wasn’t sure how he felt either. She couldn’t believe it was happening all over again. She knew Adam’s feelings toward his father were directly opposite his feelings of his mother; but a sickness was a sickness, surely. 

“Oh, yes. Yes, that’s fine.” His eyes went to the floor searchingly, as though maybe he’d find some tangible form of feelings there. Alas, he found none. He was still numb, He’d been numb for years by now and yet he still expected to feel things.  _ Foolish Adam.  _ Mrs. Potts kept her eyes on him for a moment, just to see if he had anything more to say. When she received nothing further, she curtsied solemnly and left the library, leaving the prince to deal with his tragedy on his own, as he had learned to do far younger than he should have.

* * *

Days had gone by since the king had fallen ill. The entire castle had become silent, almost as though they were in preemptive mourning. The king was still ill, still the same. Adam would hear the faintest whispers among the staff. “He must’ve caught something in Versailles,” they’d say. “Terribly hard for the boy, surely.” Doctors and nurses would tell the prince that the king was requesting his presence, but Adam never visited, and eventually the requests ceased- it was the first time Adam had ever disobeyed, and the first time his father had ever relented. He didn’t want to see his father anyway. He knew the state he was in and that was good enough. Adam had been carrying himself around the castle like a ghost probably would: gliding through the motions, silently walking around without being aware of anything. 

All Adam could think about were cherry blossoms. Before his mother died, she’d take Adam’s little hand in hers and walk him through the garden. She’d walk slowly, which made Adam impatient, as all he wanted to do was run about. But she’d explain to him that it was important to go slowly, especially in the springtime. “Look at all the flowers,” she’d say to him, in a way that sounded like a sweet song you’d want to hear over and over again. “There’s life all around us, my dear one, don’t let them pass you by.” She’d crouch down beside him, her smile as bright as the sun. Adam’s little heart would buzz with joy, that was his  _ maman _ , and he loved her before he knew what love was, he was sure of it. “But do you know which ones are my favorite, mon ange?” She’d whisper into his ear, like it was a secret that only Adam got to know. His mother would put her hand around his waist, pulling him closer to her side. The little prince would put his arm around her neck, through her curly blonde hair that she’d let down out of an up-do whenever she had the chance. It always made her laugh, when he did that. Like her little boy understood just how important this was. Her laugh danced in Adam’s ears, it would forever be the most wonderful sound Adam had ever heard. She’d then point up to the tree that was decorated immaculately in little pink flowers. “The cherry blossoms, mon ange, do you know why?” The little prince shook his head, enthralled by the mass of the tree. “Because they don’t all bloom at once,” she said, reaching for a blossom that had fallen on the grass. “They each take their time, and when one of them is ready,” she held the blossom in front of Adam, who cupped his hands to receive it from her. “They bloom more beautifully than all the others.” Adam curled his fingers around the blossom, and his mother cupped his hands in hers, holding them tightly and thinking ever so fondly of him. “You remember that, my dearest boy. Not all the cherry blossoms bloom at the same time.” Adam looked at her with utmost sincerity, clinging to every word that left her lips. He looked into her blue eyes, just as blue as his own. She smiled at him, bringing his head forward with her hand and kissing him on the forehead. “ _ Mon cher petit amour _ ,” she’d whisper, pressing her forehead to his. The wind blew, and Adam opened his hands to let it sweep the blossom away. The pair of them turned their heads, watching the blossom be whisked away into the unknown. Life had a purpose then, life had joy. 

The cherry blossoms bloomed too late for his mother to see them one last time, and it destroyed Adam every day after she’d gone. In the days leading toward her death, Adam would run out to the garden every day, just to check if the cherry blossom trees had begun to bloom. And every day he’d be met by vacant trees with red buds, afraid to let themselves be known, it had seemed. The cherry blossoms bloomed a week after she’d gone, and Adam could never look at them the same way. He thought of them resentfully, as if blaming them for their bad timing. Though, even if they had bloomed in enough time, it wasn’t as though his mother was strong enough to go outside and see them. Adam just wanted it to work, wanted things to be right. His mother loved the cherry blossoms, and they should’ve been there for her. 

Now Adam wandered the castle gardens, the cherry trees entirely pink, but Adam never raising his eyes to admire them. They’ve lost their meaning, their spark. They’re not the same and they never will be. Adam wandered onto the bridge that passes over the creek, his gaze was blank and his eyes heavy. Nothing made sense, nothing was good. His father was close to death and Adam couldn’t even be bothered to be inside anymore. The staff only gave him the most over dramatic and apologetic bows and curtsies he’d ever seen. He didn’t care about any of their weak formalities. The visit from the Parisian nobles had been canceled, of course. They sent “their deepest sympathies” according to Cogsworth, who had delivered the message to the prince yesterday morning. Everyone was giving Adam their “most sorrowful sympathies” and “warmest regards in this most trying of times” and Adam couldn’t be bothered with any of it. He didn’t want their sympathies! He didn’t want their regards! It was all bullshit, and Adam knew it better than any of them. Adam’s father was dying, and he simply couldn’t care less. He just wished the others could agree. He knew they did, but they had to maintain the  façades, until his very last breath, they would. It sickened Adam, the thought of people caring for that wretched man. But there was nothing that could be done about it now. Adam’s father was dying, and Adam was thinking about cherry blossoms. All the prince could wonder was when he was going to bloom. 

* * *

The prince had been outside most of the day, watching as the sun faded behind a sudden bout of storm clouds and eventual rain. It was a light rain at first, but even as it thickened Adam just sat there, letting the water droplets pelt him, leaving him drenched. His golden hair went flat, sticking to the sides of his face. The temperature got colder, and still the prince sat firm on a bench, his arms wrapped around himself to warm up the best he could. He looked over to the castle, candles were beginning to glow in reaction to the sudden disappearance of the sun. He wondered what the staff was doing without him there to forcibly coddle. He wondered if they’d even realized when he’d left. 

Suddenly, in the distance, Adam saw a figure leaving the castle and coming toward him. It was a man, he could tell that much, dressed in a tan-yellow suit and carrying an umbrella with him. “ Lumiere,” the prince muttered, realizing who it was. Adam rolled his eyes, they’d sent him to retrieve him, surely. Why did this bother Adam? Didn’t he want to be alone? Wasn’t he okay without them? Maybe he did want the attention, he just wasn’t sure anymore. His feelings had been all over since his father’s fall. He didn’t know how to feel, but in that moment he knew he didn’t want to speak to Lumiere. The prince looked away from him, staring hard at the ground in front of him. It was a dirt path, and a small puddle of rain was beginning to make an impression on the ground. Adam watched as rain drops made rings in the puddle, starting in the center and echoing until they broke at the edges. His mind fell far from reality, falling deeper into the puddle; the way the ringlets were perfect circles, the way they flowed outward in perfect unison, it was more fascinating than any of Adam’s horrible thoughts that had crossed his mind all day. Surely he’d be able to sit here forever, watching the rain fall. 

“Hello, my prince!” Lumiere said, a bit louder to combat the drowning rush of the rain. Adam heard him, but kept his eyes to the ground. “Might I sit with you?” The butler asked, though he knew he’d get no response; he knew his prince better than that. When Adam did indeed give no answer, Lumiere gently sat next to him on the bench, the first time he’d done so since the prince was little and they were watching the birds fly by one sunny afternoon. It was a far simpler time that had always seemed to bring immense joy to little Adam. Lumiere was always amazed at how enthralled the prince was with the birds, it was as though he understood them. As though he wanted to be them. 

“Mon prince...” Lumiere began, eyes fixed on Adam’s solemn face. The butler moved the umbrella slightly, making sure it covered the prince entirely. He kicked himself for not bringing a towel, obviously Adam was going to be soaked. But when Cogsworth demanded he run out to fetch the boy, he didn’t have much time to think. He wouldn’t have even grabbed the umbrella had Plumette not shoved it in his hands before he left. Now he sat there, looking at his sad prince and knowing that there was nothing he could do to change this boy’s heart. He’d never really been the same since his mother had gone, how could he be? 

“Mon prince, please, come back inside…” Lumiere tried to plead. What was he supposed to say? He couldn’t tell Adam what to do. At this point, no one really could. And that scared Lumiere, just a little bit. Adam was like a wandering dog, stray and abandoned and free. No one could control him, and he expected no one ever would. The prince stared, stone-faced, at the ground. They were a fruitless effort, Lumiere’s words. Adam’s stubbornness seemed to grow like vines around his heart, squeezing tighter and anchoring him down in his place. It would take a lot more convincing for the butler to take him out of the rain, even if the sopping wet prince  _ was  _ secretly grateful for the umbrella. 

“Your father,” Lumiere continued, his words lined with sorrow. “They do not think he has very long, mon prince.” Adam did nothing but take a deep inhale through his nose, his chest and shoulders rising dramatically, as if making a statement with his body but never his words. “Cogsworth, he thinks you should return to, perhaps, make a final goodbye…” 

What for?” Adam answered, abruptly breaking his seemingly infinite silence. Lumiere blinked, looking away from the prince in thought. Adam turned and raised his stoic gaze to him, just for a moment. He knew Lumiere would have no real answer, because he was right: what  _ was  _ the point of saying goodbye to the king? The prince looked back at his growing puddle on the ground before he could meet Lumiere’s eyes. 

“Well, he… he’s your father, and-” 

“And? Lumiere, you and I both know he’s never done any good for me.” The prince’s words had never been clearer, freer, about his father; at least not to a servant. Yes, everyone knew how the king treated his son. They all saw the bruises and heard the yelling, but it had always gone unspoken, unacknowledged. The words stung Lumiere, not in an offended way, but in the way a lightning bolt strikes a tree: quick, with a burning reality. “You and the others are only behaving this way because you have to,” Adam continued, his anger and resentment growing with every moment. “It’s  _ sickening _ , the way you all sulk around the castle as though all your happiness has been taken from you. This could very well be the greatest day the castle has ever seen,” Adam turned his head, this time looking Lumiere right in the eyes. “ _ And you’re all ruining it. _ ” There was a seriousness in the prince’s eyes that the butler had never witnessed before. It was like the light had finally burned out inside the prince. It made a knot form in Lumiere’s stomach, it worried him. 

The prince turned away, back to his apathetic stare into nothingness. Lumiere was silent, too, for some time. The pair of them sat side by side on a stone bench, letting the bitter, cold air settle around them. They let their minds wander, sharing a grave reality, both seeing a future that neither of them expected, but now seemed all the more inevitable. After several moments of uneasy and unsure silence, Lumiere glanced over at the prince before deciding to break their peace. 

“Adam,”  Lumiere dared using the prince’s name, it was his last attempt at holding some rapport with the boy. His voice was calm, almost heartbroken for his lost prince. “Even if you do not care to see him… please, come home.” 

Adam’s heart warmed at that word.  _ Home. _ He’d known what home was. He’d seen it every day as a little boy. How the staircases and corridors had always seemed so infinite he thought his little legs would never carry him far enough as he ran around. The way he could run into his mother’s arms when he’d heard a scary noise or when the thunder outside struck too close to the castle. How the various footmen and maids would give him clues as to where Lumiere was hiding when they were playing games, Plumette often giving extra hints. Whenever he’d walk past the library or the ballroom and hear the Maestro and his wife creating their melodious sounds, the piano and her angelic voice, melding and making his ears buzz with sweetness. Mrs. Potts always mending his wounds, giving him cups of tea that filled his soul with warmth. Even Cogsworth huffing around, demanding order and best behavior, leaving little Adam to laugh to himself, wondering if he’d always been like this. That was home. And it was all gone now. No more games, no more laughter, no more warmth. It had all been taken away by the one man who’d always been there but never a part of it. And now, he would finally be gone. Finally Adam could be freed of  _ his _ rule, his command. This was Adam’s home. Not his father’s; never his father’s. Monsters don’t get nice things like families and homes. They get bitter and lonely endings, and that’s what Adam was going to let him have. An end to all his terror, with no one to watch it happen. 

The prince stood, stepping out of the safety of the umbrella and letting a new layer of rain blanket him. His back was to the butler, and he had no intention of addressing him further. He was on a new path now, he’d decided. This was his now; it was Adam’s time. The sky had grown nearly entirely dark as the night had fallen. Lumiere stood too, leaving the umbrella just over himself, unsure of Adam’s silence. The butler wished he’d brought a candle, too, but he hadn’t thought they’d be sitting there for as long as they had. He watched the prince’s back. He was breathing a little heavy, but otherwise standing tall. Adam turned his head to the castle. It was completely illuminated against the dark night’s sky. The prince then began walking toward it, feeling ready. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, he was ready for, but he felt ready. Lumiere watched the prince walk until he couldn’t really see him anymore as he disappeared into the darkness. The butler sighed, this was happening. This was the reality they’d all created for him, and now it was coming to fruition. Lumiere began following far behind the prince; a butler behind his master, just as it would always be. 

* * *

The king died early the next morning. A young nurse was the first to discover him upon entering the hospital wing to open the curtains and wake the king. He did not, evidently, wake up. The head of the household, Cogsworth, along with other high members of the staff were swiftly notified. Wheels began to turn within the castle as procedures were set in motion for handling the king’s death. Adam was nowhere to be seen at that early hour of the day. No one had spoken to the prince since he’d stormed into the castle the night before, making no effort to acknowledge Cogsworth or Plumette, both having been waiting by the fireplace for his and Lumiere’s return. Their eyes followed the prince as he ascended the grand stairs and disappeared down a corridor, leaving a trail of wet footprints and water dripping from his coat tail. The prince had frustratedly disrobed his wet clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. He’d fallen asleep on top of his duvet after only changing into his trousers, too confused and exhausted to put anything else on. 

When he awoke, his wet clothes had vanished and his curtains were drawn, but besides that, there seemed to be no sign of the staff. He pulled an undershirt over himself and a robe over his shoulders, quickly glancing in his vanity and tying his hair back. The castle seemed incredibly quiet, far more than it had been in the last few days. When he descended the stairs, he saw Cogsworth silently instructing a few footmen before sending them down a hall. Lumiere was standing in the foyer too, seemingly in a hushed conversation with Plumette, Madame de Garderobe, and Maestro Cadenza. Adam couldn’t see Lumiere’s face, but the three he was talking to had rather distraught looks on their faces, or maybe they were anxious? The prince had a puzzled look himself, finally reaching the bottom of the stairs, turning everyone’s attention to him. They all froze, hardly even remembering to bow and curtsy. Adam, for once didn’t avoid their eyes; he was commanding them. His eyes scanned all of theirs, seeing who would explain their strange behavior first. 

“What are you all staring about for?” Mrs. Potts said, coming around behind Adam, startling everyone including the prince. Adam looked over his shoulder to her, she had the look of someone who’d been up until three in the morning preparing the house for the relatives coming in from out of town. She gave him a sad and regretful look, and it was then that Adam had gathered why everyone was behaving so strangely. He remembered that look all too well. When the prince turned back to the others, they’d all scattered, carrying on with their business. “Come along deary, have some tea,” she beckoned sweetly. The prince silently followed her, shoving his hands in the pockets of his robe. 

When the pair of them reached the kitchen, Mrs. Potts pulled out a chair for the prince, and pushed it in as he sat down. It was almost as though Adam was in a confused daze. The castle had the feeling that all time had stopped, like the very dust was suspended in the air.

“Is my father dead?” The prince asked the housekeeper as she prepared a cup of tea for him. She turned and placed the teacup in front of the prince, sitting down in the chair beside him.

“Yes, he is.” It was so simple, said so blatantly straightforward that Adam wasn’t entirely sure that he’d heard it correctly. 

“Am I king now?” Adam questioned. The conversation was almost completely void of emotion and sentiment. Mrs. Potts knew better than to comfort him about this.

“Not to worry about all of that now, dear. Drink up,” she inched the teacup toward him, and he took a sip from it almost mechanically. 

“What am I to worry about, then?” Adam asked after taking a drink and setting the teacup back in its dish. “Isn’t a funeral to take place? A procession? An announcement to the whole bloody country?” Adam’s mind began to buzz. These weren’t things he cared about at all; they were the things he’d been forced to go through when he was a boy, and he wanted to get ahead of all of it before he let his emotions have any bearing on the matter, not that there was a chance that they would.

“Already being taken care of, Adam.” Mrs. Potts responded, calm and on top of things- as she always was. The prince slouched back in his chair then. He hadn’t felt more out of place, more unsure of what to do with himself. He sipped the rest of his tea and stood up. 

“Why did you bring me in here, then?” The prince asked, slightly agitated at the lack of productivity from their conversation. Mrs. Potts stood and walked toward him, fixing the collar of his robe, knowing he was too stunned by the morning’s news to stop her from a little attentive care, however simple it was.

“Because I thought you could use a cuppa before your world starts to change, love.” The prince’s eyebrows drew together. He looked at her, letting her hands stay on his robe for a moment before pulling away, a memory of his mother flashed in his mind, her gentle hands always having to fix his jackets and little cravats, a constant proud smile on her face. He quickly shook himself back to reality, beginning to step away from Mrs. Potts, first walking backwards and then turning and leaving the room in a rush, the doors creaking open rather loudly, breaking the peace of the castle. 

When Adam returned to the main foyer of his grand estate, not a soul was to be found. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, looking around his home as if for the first time. The intricately designed pillars that held the building tall, the terribly delicate vases that stood alone against the patterned walls, even the marble floor, though old and clearly worn, was entirely well-kept. Adam had never really noticed any of the castle’s details, they’d just always been there. As his eyes danced around, his gaze landed on the ballroom, its doors peculiarly opened. The prince made his way to the extravagant room, hardly ever seeing it empty and undecorated. It looked like a bare-boned skeleton of a room, vacant and entirely untouched, only used for the most lavish of events and parties. Across the room lived the king’s throne, standing alone but still somehow demanding a high regard. Usually his throne was kept in its own room, properly named “the throne room”, but the king always enjoyed sitting among his guests, making sure they knew who had the power among them- as if being inside an extravagant castle wasn’t clear enough. Adam delicately made his way across the ballroom, his slippers softly tapping against the polished floor. His father would be appalled at him so improperly dressed, meandering around the castle like this, but that simply wasn’t a problem anymore, Adam soon realized. 

When he finally reached the throne, he examined it, tilting his head the way dogs do when they hear a word never before spoken to them. The prince reached out his hands, letting his fingers glide along the elegant design of the throne’s golden frame. He’d never been able to be this close to it before. Despite the obvious reality that it would one day be his, the king never thought to give Adam the opportunity to experience it, to understand it. Now, the king was dead. The prince was left to learn it himself, or rather, decide for himself what the meaning of the throne was; what the meaning of  _ his  _ throne was. The concept of the entire kingdom being his left a strange taste in his mouth, not a bad one, just strange. He felt like a baby bird pushed out of the nest before he was able to fly. More appropriately it was like he, the fragile and wide-eyed baby bird, was the only one left in the nest, with no one to push him or tell him to do anything of the kind. Suddenly Adam was in a very real and frightfully lonely existence, and he wasn’t sure how he’d be in the nest all on his own. Just then, Cogsworth walked past the ballroom, nearly ignoring it altogether before realizing the prince was there. 

“Ah, Master,” Cogsworth addressed, stepping into the ballroom and making his way to Adam. Being called ‘Master’ felt incorrect to Adam’s ears. He’d spent his entire life hearing his father as ‘Master’ and it hadn’t quite occurred to him yet that his title would change. It hadn’t really dawned on him how much was actually going to change. But, Adam reasoned, he was now indeed the master of the castle. “Glad to find you,” Cogsworth said, in a sort of hurried-with-a-million-other-things-to-do kind of tone. He’d had a scroll in his hand, something Adam hadn’t noticed until Cogsworth was right up next to him. The prince still had his arm on the back of the throne, almost like he was tethered to it. 

“What’s that?” The prince asked, staring pointedly at the scroll. The head of the household looked down, seemingly forgetting it was in his hand as well.

“Oh, nothing of significance, Master,” Cogsworth said in an uncharacteristically unbothered way. “Now, Your Highness, I- ”

“Am I king now?” Adam interrupted, seeing if maybe Cogsworth would give him the only sliver of information that the young master really cared about knowing. Cogsworth was a bit taken aback by the question, more so than Mrs. Potts had been when asked. 

He shuffled with his scroll a little before answering, “Well now, Master, it’s a bit tricky, you see- ”

“Am I king or not, Cogsworth? It truly shouldn’t be that complicated. The king is dead, yes? Who is left to rule, if not me? Just answer the question,  _ am I king _ ?” Adam interrupted again, agitated by the man’s fumbling. Cogsworth went silent and stared at the young man standing before him. There was something about his voice, the directness, the anger in it, something reminiscent of the boy’s father that startled Cogsworth more than he’d ever admit. 

“Well, technically speaking, Master, no.” Adam was rather taken aback by this answer, and it was clear Cogsworth didn’t enjoy the delivery much either. 

“Why the hell not?” Adam questioned accusingly, as though it was somehow Cogsworth’s decision. The head of the household fumbled over himself again, not at all prepared to be having this conversation with Adam quite yet. He’d made plans to meet with him, along with members of the royal council, later in the day. There was so much happening in the castle, Cogsworth hadn’t stopped in his planning to consider the possibility that Adam would have thoughts and questions.

“You see, there are certain rules and regulations about these kinds of things. By all accounts, you  _ are  _ the sole successor to your father, and you  _ will _ be king.” Cogsworth tried to explain, but Adam only looked all the more confused and angered.

“ _ But _ …?” Adam asked, his words tugging at Cogsworth to get to his point like a rider pulls at a horse’s reins to get it to stop. 

“But,” Cogsworth continued, “a prince must be married to be king, Your Highness.” 

Adam’s eyebrows furrowed, his shoulders tensed. “ _ Married? _ Who the bloody hell decided that?” The young master stepped toward Cogsworth, away from the throne. 

“It’s a very old custom within this kingdom, Your Highness, your father and- and his father before...” the head of the household stepped backwards, clutching the scroll in his hands. Adam stopped, memories of stories from his mother’s past flashing before him. He knew his father had taken her from her family, but what he hadn’t realized was his father’s motive for doing so. It was clear now, so painfully and terribly clear. He’d done it to ensure his throne, his power. Adam wondered why his father had never bothered to tell him any of that; but it was probably because the king saw himself immortal, felt succession would never truly take place. The prince clenched his fists again, this time purely outraged at his father, once more. The young master burst past Cogsworth, frustrated and angry at so much, quite possibly the whole world. Even with death as their distance, Adam couldn’t seem to escape his father’s horrors. 

Adam made his way out of the ballroom and outside. The rain had stopped but the sky was still an awfully dreadful grey. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom and Adam had to look away. That was wrong,  _ they were wrong _ . They bloomed for the wrong person, and Adam would  _ never _ forgive them for it. The wind blew hard against the boy’s face as he looked up at the sky, almost searchingly. His heart pounded and there was a terrible knot in his stomach. He felt like passing out and throwing up all at the same time. Everything his life had been based on was out of nothing, void of goodness. Adam fell to his knees, bowing his head and shutting his eyes. He was beyond anger, he was disgusted. Not just at himself, not just at his father, but at all that his life had been. Both of his parents were dead now and he was left with more power than he knew what to do with. Maybe this world wasn’t meant to be good to Adam. The prince buried his face in his hands, tears began to stream from his eyes, he couldn’t bear to let them get farther than his cheeks. Soon Adam was wiping the tears away, not wanting anyone to see.  _ Don’t be soft _ . His father’s voice pierced his ears like a dagger could pierce a heart. It was painful but he let the king’s wretched words consume him. They washed over him as a wave does a lonely swimmer. Adam couldn’t be soft, couldn’t let his father’s words continue to live in his mind. Once he’d learned never to be soft, never to let others see his weakness, then he’d be rid of his father, surely. The prince stopped his crying and looked up again. Wind still whistled through the trees, the sky still a tragic grey. He cleared his face with his sleeves and stood up.  _ Enough of this sorrow _ , he thought to himself.  _ Don’t be soft, Adam _ . This time he heard those words from his own voice, never again to let his father rule his life. The king was dead, and Adam was going to make sure he never cowered under his father’s fists ever again. 

* * *

The unbearably tragic summer bled into an even harsher and terrifying autumn. The king’s funeral took place, it was attended by royals and nobles from all over the world. It was a calculated, traditional, and lengthy affair. There were things that Adam, as the king’s only son and heir, was supposed to do. Things he was told in a rushed tone by the funeral organizer among countless other things that Adam was supposed to know and remember. People bowed their heads to the prince everywhere he went. Not a single moment of his time had been his own. Nobles and elders were always saying things to him, trying to  _ maintain  _ him, it seemed. Adam remembered the first meeting with them after his conversation with Cogsworth on the day of his father’s death. 

_ “So, Your Royal Highness, as Monsieur Cogsworth has explained to you, you cannot complete your father’s succession until you are wed,” said a stuffy-looking noble with such overgrown eyebrows that Adam thought they looked like bushy moustaches over his eyes. The frustrated prince sat back in his chair at the long table, surrounded by much older and more irritating men.  _

_ “And how exactly do you suppose I’m going to find someone to marry? It’s not as though eligible girls are flouncing around the castle every day.” He rolled his eyes.  _

_ “Quite so, Your Highness,” the noble replied, seemingly unbothered by his attitude, or perhaps just used to it. “We’ve several options for you. But I think we have one you might like. Though it does have the potential to take a bit of time, we do think you may at least enjoy it…”  _

That was when they told Adam about the countless royal balls that could take place. They could invite princesses and royal ladies from all over to come to the castle and dance for him. They could even tax the villages in the area to bring their most exciting bachelorettes for the prince. Anything he needed,  _ anyone _ he wanted. The prince had been satisfied with this. He agreed to their solution, liked it, even. It seemed viable, and easy enough for Adam to choose his bride, if that was indeed truly what he had to do. At first, the prince found his new existence to be a strange one. The thought of ruling the country terrified him, the thought of picking his wife like selecting the prized horse sickened him, and the thought of being utterly and completely alone in all of it simply paralyzed him. But those feelings were quickly buried. The prince swallowed his fears and anguish and stress, shoving it all locked away forever. He wasn’t going to be soft anymore,  _ that  _ he was certain of. As the days passed, it got easier and easier to let his old self go. To be who he needed to be. In those months following the king’s death, the castle changed, or more specifically, the  _ master of the castle _ changed. The prince, growing a little less soft and a bit more twisted each day, began carrying an air about himself that no one in the staff could bear to see. He was more tense, more angered at the imperfections of his castle. When something went amiss, he let whoever was responsible know their mistake. He started buying new and expensive clothes and decorum. He started almost always carrying a golden goblet filled with wine everywhere he went. He did anything to prevent himself from thinking of goodness, anything that stopped him from  _ remembering _ . The prince did anything to prevent himself from being soft, and oh, how his edges sharpened.

Weeks after his father’s funeral, Adam turned sixteen. As a common rule within the household, not much happened on the prince’s birthday; not since his mother’s passing. Before she left, before the flowers wilted, the queen would make sure that Cuisinier had prepared Adam’s most favorite foods and pastries. She’d send Lumiere in a carriage to far away places weeks in advance, just to get some incredibly special trinket for the prince. If they were lucky, she’d sit him in front of her on Etienne and go riding in the fields together. It was perfect, it was joy. But now he’s sixteen, without a parent to deeply care or to completely forget. Lumiere and Plumette wished him a happy birthday when he passed them in the hall. Mrs. Potts made him a warm plate of  _ pâte à choux _ , which he silently appreciated immensely. But the sun rose and then it set again, and then it wasn’t his birthday. He was just a sixteen-year-old future king without a damn clue. 

The women started arriving a week or two later. The Bachelor’s Ball, as the nobles had elected to call it, was taking place every month. Each night, on the evening of the event, Adam gathered the only members of staff he had any appreciation for into his dressing room, which until recently, was his father’s. They’d anxiously stand around him, finding dashing outfits for him, with Plumette spending hours applying his makeup, making it look as though he had the utmost style and elegance. The prince had even taken to wearing wigs, hiding his blond hair. It was something he hadn’t thought he’d do, given that his father almost always wore a wig, but he started to see the appeal of it when he saw himself in the mirror one night. His hair was all right, but it lacked pomp, Adam noticed. It was uninteresting,  _ boring _ , lacking that certain appeal that he wished to give to his potential ladies. So, he sent for the most interesting and stylish wigs, and he’d wear the one that most suited him any given night. 

The staff did as he asked, and oh, how he asked. He’d grown more demanding, faster with his words. He’d even snapped at Cogsworth one night, nearly a year after the king’s death, for dropping his golden hand mirror. The glass shattered on the floor and the frame broke in three different pieces. “ _ You insufferable fool! _ ” the prince shouted, silencing the entire room, leaving everyone frozen in their places. Adam’s raised voice startled everyone far more than the sound of the mirror hitting the floor did. Plumette rushed to the mess to sweep it up, the remainder of the staff remaining still, afraid to lose their composure. Once the mess was cleaned and disposed of, and the agitated prince commanded  Lumiere to make note of getting a new,  _ sturdier _ , hand mirror, his party preparation carried on. The prince looked at himself in his vanity mirror, he was growing quite fond of this routine, this life. It was as though a pattern was engraving itself in his life, like lines etched in a tree: deep and growing a little every day. He watched as Plumette worked tirelessly on his makeup, as Lumiere and Mrs. Potts collaborated to create an attractive outfit, he even watched as Cogsworth fussed with his pocket watch, knowing he was practically hellbent on getting the prince to his ball on time. And that is what would happen. Prince Adam would attend his royal balls month after month, he’d meet his beautiful women, he’d dance and drink and drown himself in the glamorous tragedy that had become his life. He’d drown, plunging deeper into his own miserable mind and not a soul was going to lift him up. The prince’s heart would twist and twist, wringing dry of all love and joy. He’d sit on his throne, above his elegant guests, laughing to himself and almost daring the universe to try and take it all away from him. 


End file.
